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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135203">Watch The Envelope Bend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf/pseuds/badwolf'>badwolf</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie'>dysphorie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>John 5 (Musician), Marilyn Manson (Band), Slipknot (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Banned Together Bingo, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gore, Knotting, M/M, References to Knotting, Violence, Violent Sex, Werewolves, love is stored in the knot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26135203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf/pseuds/badwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"westeriawolf: omg tim this guy omg. He's freaking huge. He looks like he could hammer me into the ground like a tent peg with one hand</i>
  <br/>
  <i>skolds-bridle: ??? What does he look like? John where are you? You didn’t say you were going out tonight.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>skolds-bridle: you know you’re supposed to let someone know when you’re going out"...</i>
</p><p>or, be careful what you wish for...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John 5/Jim Root</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Love Is Stored In The Knot</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 01</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>!!!CHECK THE END NOTES FOR FURTHER TAGS AND WARNINGS!!!DON'T SAY WE DIDN'T WARN YOU!!!</p><p>Critique is neither wanted nor needed! We do what we want and die like men. No gods, no masters. We cannot be stopped</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>westeriawolf: omg tim this guy omg. He's freaking huge. He looks like he could hammer me into the ground like a tent peg with one hand</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>skolds-bridle: ??? What does he look like? John where are you? You didn’t say you were going out tonight.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>skolds-bridle: you know you’re supposed to let someone know when you’re going out.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>westeriawolf: that dive bar you mentioned in your guide. It was a last minute thing, don’t stress</em>
</p><p>
  <em>westeriawolf: he's about my height sitting down so he's gotta be six ft plus, longish hair, kinda shaggy looking. Scruffy in an "I'll wreck you on a mattress on the floor of my trailer" kinda way. I'm digging it so far</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>skolds-bridle: shit john no, get tf out of there. I'm not kidding man, do not fucking engage</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>skolds-bridle: dude I'm telling you this is straight up a bad idea. ABORT ABORT.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>westeriawolf: ugh I'll be fine, I know what I'm doing. It looks like he’s got a buddy with him if you wanna come double date ;)</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>skolds-bridle: no, no you don't and that's what I'm worried about. Seriously, stay away from those guys -</em> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>John doesn’t even finish reading the message, just rolls his eyes at his phone and engages Do Not Disturb, before locking the screen while looking back out across the bar. He knows Tim’s just being overprotective because he cares (and because death is bad for his brand), but he’s a real pain in the ass sometimes. Of <em>course </em>John knows what he’s doing; he’s been doing his research for what feels like <em>years</em>. What to look for and what to watch out for and what to avoid like the plague. Tim’s guide had been invaluable, no doubt about that, but it was also a little...secretive. In-depth but without much in the way of juicy details. And John <em>really</em> wanted the details, the juicer the better.</p><p>There was a theory in one of John’s spin-off group chats that Tim was keeping all the good shit for himself, not wanting to spill <em>all</em> the tricks to getting your shit wrecked by the ultimate furry lest some young piece of ass steal his favourite fluffy toy. So everyone started taking everything Tim says with <em>just </em>a pinch of salt, maybe taking a <em>few </em>more risks than Tim suggested was necessary (because let's face it, trying to find and fuck a goddamned <em>werewolf</em> is always gonna be at least slightly risky). And, okay sure, it hadn’t always worked out in their favour. More than once a member had logged off for the night never to return. </p><p>It was always a little sad when that happened. Sometimes posters would be put up in the members hometown, links from missing persons Facebook groups shared. But no one in John’s group bothered. There was no point, they knew what had happened but couldn’t exactly explain to the grieving families. Most of the time they were barely mourned. Instead, much like the dead on Everest, they became fallen heroes marking the route for others to summit that monster dick of their dreams more safely.</p><p>Peeking around the corner at the bar, John sizes up his target. <em>Jesus -</em> John bites the curse off, eyes practically falling out his head as he catalogues the details to report back later, cos no way can he start taking pictures in a bar this divey. Not if he wants to walk out with his phone <em>not</em> shoved up his ass.</p><p>Saying the guy is huge is an understatement; he dwarfs John in every direction. Broad shoulders straining at the seams of a ratty plaid flannel, the hand that holds his pint glass looking like it could easily wrap around John’s throat. And his legs...oh god, they’re a mile and a half long, strong and shapely in <em>very</em> tight jeans. He also definitely ticks a few of the boxes on the <em>“Is this person a top-tier werewolf or just a really hairy hipster?”</em> checklist; big, but not body-builder big. Physique built for strength <em>and</em> speed. Hairy without being Grizzly Adams. Clean but unstyled. Really, it’s not an exhaustive list, and there’s a lot of nuance. Basically you just had to study the people, the places, and make your choices from there.</p><p>All together he looks like he could pick John up and throw him about like an empty sweatshirt. It makes John break out in a sweat, gulping as his dick starts to stiffen in his jeans. </p><p><em>Not yet, you horny simpleton… we gotta take our time.</em> </p><p>And they do, have to take their time. John doubts he would get far if he sat next to the guy and just blurted out <em>“Wow Daddy, what big teeth you have!” </em>Might’ve worked in the fairy tales but this was reality, literally life and death. This will require tact. He needs to be crafty. Be available without acting like prey. Can’t seem weak. No matter the size difference you gotta act like you’re the boss. Treat them like a big, dumb dog, but remember that big, dumb dogs still bite sometimes. </p><p> </p><p>The giant’s friend walks off to chat with someone else. <em>Finally</em>. With a last fluff of his hair and slick of lip gloss, John takes a deep breath and makes his way to the bar.</p><p>“Can I get a, uh, Diet Coke?”  His voice doesn’t shake, that’s a good start. Eyes turn to him as they always do when he orders, everyone surprised that someone could stand to be in a place like this stone-cold sober. But quickly they’re turning back to their own drinks and conversations and paying John no mind. </p><p>Everyone except the behemoth.</p><p>John doesn’t turn, doesn’t look. Doesn’t twitch when the giant’s arm brushes the plush fabric of his sleeve. Just takes a sip of his drink and pretends he can’t see the guy in his peripherals. He’s eyeing John in a similar fashion, not outright but enough for John to know he’s being watched. It’s a sensation he’s familiar with, he’s <em>very</em> used to curious stares.</p><p>It’s probably not just his rockstar good looks that have the guy curious. Like, John knows he looks good. <em>Very</em> good. That doesn’t mean it hurts to have some...insurance. So maybe he didn’t clean up <em>quite</em> as thoroughly as he usually would after hurriedly jerking himself off in the bathroom, just wiping his hands dry and stuffing his cock back into his underwear. It’s basically<em> Werewolf Chasing 101:</em> you gotta maximise your appeal. Hounds are driven by scent after all, catching one and hunting it down until they find the proverbial fox and all hell breaks loose. And what is a werewolf but the ultimate hunter’s dog? A creature literally built for predation, huge and powerful but sneaky and not easily ran to ground. And like a hunting dog, you have to give them the scent to chase but also have a way to bring them back to heel. John’s pretty sure he’s got that down. It’s all in the attitude, and John’s got attitude and charisma in spades. No worries in that department.</p><p>It’s not <em>all</em> about the acting, unfortunately. If the guy’s definitely a werewolf there’s no way he hasn’t caught onto the uptick in John’s heartbeat by now. He could win an Oscar for the act he’s putting on but biology will let you down every time, so when the first flutter happens he finally looks. Pretending to choke a little on his drink he wipes his lips with a slender finger and smiles.</p><p>“Uh, hi,” he starts, coquettish and unsure. Unassuming. The first part of the charm offensive. It works 99% of the time, and usually if it doesn’t the guy isn’t worth John’s time; if he can resist that then he’s probably too stupid to know where to put his dick.</p><p>Thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case here. “Hey,” the guy says, tucking an errant lock of shaggy hair behind his ear. It’s messier up close than it seemed from a distance, wild with blondish streaks framing a rather nice jaw shaded with stubble. “How are ya?” His voice isn’t overly deep, but it has a raspy edge to it that screams <em>smoker</em> to John. Hmm. It’s not exactly a deal-breaker, but it’s not John’s favourite thing. A mark in the <em>“cons”</em> column though, that’s for sure. Even if he can’t smell cigarettes on his breath or worse, breath mints.</p><p>It’s still early days though. John forges onward. “I’m good, you?” He doesn’t quite have to shout to be heard, but he takes the noise in the bar as an excuse to shift slightly closer to the target, under the pretence of hearing and being heard better. Their arms are almost pressed together. The guy doesn’t flinch or shift away. <em>A mark in the “pros” column, I think...</em></p><p>“Can’t complain,” the guy says, gesturing to his nearly empty glass and then to his friend, who John hadn’t even noticed sit back down. About his own height, with tousled fair hair and a Spider-Man t-shirt despite clearly being around John’s age. He doesn’t look particularly thrilled to have a third wheel interrupting his conversation. He tips his glass towards John with what might pass for a smile in dim lighting as Jim continues. “Getting better by the minute though.”</p><p>The smile he gives John when he says that is only small but the clear subtext behind it is unmistakable and it makes him warm all over, pooling in his belly, urging him on. “I’m John,” he offers, stretching out his hand, promptly nearly swallowing his fucking tongue when it’s gripped in something more similar to a paw than a hand, so huge it’s almost comical in how it dwarfes John’s. A thought of that hand around his throat pops into his head, and John nearly whimpers out loud.</p><p>“Jim.” That’s it, just the one word, that’s all the reply John gets. That and Jim still holding on to his hand. John doesn’t try to pull it back, but he doesn’t exactly want it going clammy and sweaty and wet in Jim’s grip. <em>“Cons” column. No respect for my sanity, because I’m going to die on the spot if he realises how instantly horny for him I am.</em></p><p> </p><p>Thankfully Jim finally shows some mercy, releasing John’s hand almost absentmindedly, as if he didn’t realise he was still holding it. He hasn’t broken eye contact with John either, not since he looked away from his drink to John. <em>This was in Tim’s guide</em>, he thinks, trying to remember the paragraph. Something about how werewolves will hold your gaze like a test of strength; first one to look away loses, is the weaker one. <em>The prey, not the predator</em>. </p><p>So John steels himself, stares right back into those ever so slightly glassy green eyes, and sips his drink. Jim does the same. It’s borderline excruciating trying to hold such intense eye contact, but John’s determined. He’s practiced, and not just by staring in the mirror. John stared down the doctor who gave him his STI test results (which were clear) last week, goddammit. He can handle awkward. </p><p>“So, uh,” Jim starts, finally glancing away from John, down to his hands where he’s fiddling with a hair tie around his fingers. John hopes and prays that the way his heart swells with triumph isn’t too noticeable. “Do you want a drink or,” he pauses as he notices John’s almost full glass. “Or to maybe, y’know, go somewhere? Quieter. To...talk?” He sounds uncertain, almost shy. It makes John’s insides melt. Even the way his buddy rolls his eyes at the pick-up line can’t dent John’s excitement.</p><p>He knows he’s only got a tiny window of time to decide in: is this guy what he’s looking for? Like, not just hot as hell, but lycan as hell too? The pros and cons are weighed, risk versus reward, yes or no. <em>What’s it to be, John?</em></p><p>Reaching out, he puts a hand over Jim, stilling his fidgeting fingers. He only spares Jim’s surly friend the slightest triumphant glance before he speaks.</p><p> “Your place or mine?”</p><p>-----</p><p>Jim insists on taking John back to his place, full of reassurances about wanting John to feel comfortable to leave any time he likes, how John wouldn’t want a goofy slob like him messing up his house which is probably <em>waaaaay</em> nicer than Jim’s place. And, y’know, maybe Jim will see John’s place next time? If there <em>is</em> a next time? Jim says all of this while barely looking John in the eye and biting his lip, smiling a little and showing adorably crooked teeth whenever he does look at him properly. All of which makes John’s stomach bubble with excitement and nerves because <em>dang</em>, this guy is <em>really</em> cute, and John’s already pretty sure he wouldn’t mind another go on this ride. Even if he turns out to be just human. So yeah, why not? John’s place next time. It’s a date.</p><p>“So what was up with your friend back there?” John asks. Probably good to get that out of the way.</p><p>“Corey?” Jim spares John a glance. “He just worries, y’know. Full Moon is in a day. Well, less now but you know what I mean. He’s alway given me shit for being reckless, worried I might lose control or something."</p><p>“Oh." Paydirt. This was about as good of a confirmation he was going to get.</p><p>“Yeah, I keep telling him it’s fine," Jim continus. “'Sides, i’ve never been a real big fan of pretending I’m something that I’m not, you know.”</p><p>John nods along. This is going to be amazing. </p><p> </p><p>They sit in companionable silence for the rest of the drive until Jim’s slowing down and turning onto a gravel road. </p><p><em>Well</em>, John thinks, <em>it’s not a trailer but it’s not far off</em>. The house is small and dark, and Jim doesn’t waste time with pleasantries like giving John a tour or even turning on the lights. Just seizes John by the waist and picks him up easily, claiming his lips as John instinctively wraps his legs around Jim’s thick waist, and carries him to the bedroom. <em>Shit</em>, that impresses John, werewolf or not.</p><p>There’s no preamble. Jim drops John onto the saggy bed and practically tears both their clothes off. Actually <em>does </em>tear John’s tshirt which he’s briefly irritated about but then figures <em>hey, it’s a trophy</em>. Something to show off to prove that he actually conquered Everest. Then Jim’s mouth is descending to John’s skin, tattooed and milky alike, to lick and kiss and bite every inch he can reach. His tongue is fucking huge, and when he flips John onto his stomach and starts opening his ass with it, John has to bite the rough black sheets to keep from squealing out loud in shocked pain. It feels like three fingers have been shoved into him at once and the surprise makes him feel a little lightheaded, but he rallies when Jim pulls back, laps at him far far more gently for a while before properly fingering him, one finger at a time this time. He must’ve missed the click of the lube being opened because Jim’s fingers are warm and wet now. John purrs and looks over his shoulder at Jim.</p><p>Jim, who looks fucking <em>wrecked</em>. Face flushed, his hair a matted sweaty mess, and his facial hair, (longer than John recalls; he doesn’t usually go for anything past stubble, but Jim’s definitely got a bit more than a five o’clock shadow. Oh well, that’s dive bar lighting for you) absolutely soaking wet from being buried between John’s cheeks. He’s panting hard, teeth bared and lips swollen and wet.</p><p>“<em>Fuck,</em> I want you,” Jim moans, low and rough, raking his teeth down one peachy cheek. “I <em>need</em> you, John.” </p><p>The sentence hits John like fucking lightning. Him, tiny little John that no one ever believes can look after himself, is bringing down this actual monster of a man. He can already picture the look on Tim’s face when he reads all about this. Well, he can imagine the look on Tim’s face anyway. </p><p>“Yeah?” John gives him a little smirk and flicks his teeth with his tongue. <em>Don’t be afraid to bare your teeth once you’ve got them where you want them, literally and figuratively. If they let you get on top that’s a good sign.</em> All the info coming back to him lends him a little extra courage. “You want this?” he asks, waving his butt in the air. “You wanna breed my pretty little ass?”</p><p>That does it. Jim growls and seizes John’s hips, flipping him back over and manhandling him into being on top of Jim. He pulls John against his chest, licking a flat stripe up the length of his neck and sucking his way back down. John purrs, relishes the way Jim’s nails, longer than he remembers them looking at the bar, dig into the flesh of his back. They trail up and down, scoring his skin, before grabbing his ass <em>hard</em>. Big hands covering John’s tiny cheeks and pulling them apart to bare his hole to the humid air in the room. John whines, loving feeling so exposed, grinding down on Jim’s dick so it slides along that spot behind his balls and between his cheeks. </p><p>It seems to spur Jim on even more; he’s nipping and mouthing and John’s neck and shoulders, humping up into him, feral and hungry. Staccato breaths warming John’s skin. Jim tumbles them again so that he’s leaning over John, and they stare at each other as Jim takes hold of his dick and angles it towards John’s dripping and waiting hole.</p><p>One hand gripping John’s ribs tight, Jim pushes in and it hurts, straddling that border between painful and pleasurable. Not that John doesn’t find pain pleasurable. He expected it, possibly <em>hoped</em> for it a little bit. Still, it’s a deep burn, and Jim doesn’t give him more than a second to fill his lungs before he starts pounding into him.</p><p>Instantly John’s mind is fucking blown. It’s nothing more than basic missionary position, but Jim’s dick is filling him like nothing ever has before in his life. John’s had some...<em>adventurous </em>sex, but this is beyond his wildest dreams. Never before has he felt so content to just lie back and let someone slam into his body over and over and over again.</p><p> </p><p>Jim shifts up onto his knees to sit back on his heels, those massive hands gripping tight to John’s hips and lifting them off the bed. He squeaks, surprised, and it turns to a shrill cry as Jim’s dick now nails his prostate with every single thrust. Then Jim is over him, against him, burying John’s tiny body under his bulk, and this time he <em>really</em> can’t breathe. John loves breathplay but this is a lot, even by his standards.</p><p>John’s so far out to sea that he barely notices Jim pulling and hauling at him until he’s been manhandled into Jim’s lap, where he basically lifts John up and down and up and down on his dick like he's weightless. It relieves some of the pressure around his chest, letting John finally breathe openly for five seconds. He just grabs onto Jim’s shoulders and gulps in lungfuls of air. His own dick is completely forgotten, Jim too busy using John’s entire body like a cocksleeve and John not having the energy to do anything but try to stay conscious. </p><p>He doesn’t care though. Literally all John can feel is the insistent, consuming pressure in his ass, pounding in and out and so deep it feels like it’s going to come out of his throat. It’s equal parts pain and pleasure now. John’s never been fucked like this in his life. He’s not sure he’ll ever be fucked like this ever again. This might be the best sex of his life.</p><p>Jim whines, grabs John’s face and starts kissing him roughly like he <em>needs</em> John <em>so </em>badly and pulls John against him, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling into his neck until breathing is once again an issue. Biting with teeth too sharp, nipping and licking and drawing blood. God, he seems fucking <em>obsessed</em> with John’s neck, and he dimly wonders if Jim can smell the blood coursing through his jugular, his carotid. John’s dick is grinding against Jim’s stomach and it feels amazing but the pain in his ass is growing to the point he can’t ignore it anymore.</p><p><em>Ah, ah, ah - ow? </em>The dull ache that John was waiting to ease off is just worsening, as if Jim’s dick is swelling and pushing him further open. Then there’s a proper stab of pain, one that makes him yelp and jerk. He manages to free an arm to swipe his hand up the crack of his ass, eyes widening when it comes away covered in blood. And he means <em>covered</em>. It’s a lot. Way more than you’d think would come from a small tear. If it <em>is</em> a small tear. God, John hopes it is a small tear.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Fuck,</em> Jim I'm fucking bleeding, gimme a sec," John gasps,  a little queasy, head swimming. But Jim doesn't notice. Doesn't acknowledge John or do anything but fuck up into him harder than ever. The tear rips further, wider. "<em>Please!"</em> he whines. He tries to push Jim away but he’s holding him too tight, flush against his chest with arms like twisted steel, and his thighs are so slick with blood that he can’t get any purchase to push with his legs. <em>“Stop!”</em> he wails, scratching Jim’s arms, fists pounding him ineffectually.</p><p>Jim ignores him. Just grabs John’s hand, the one covered in blood, and snarls as he licks the blood from the palm, sucking each burgundy finger in turn until he gets to the pointer finger. Jim bites down, bone cracks. John screams. </p><p>Deep inside him Jim’s dick twitches at the sound, swelling impossibly wider. John’s ripped hole catches on every thrust, not that it slows Jim down in the least. There isn’t enough air to scream, his lungs are fucking burning. Jim’s licking and sucking at his neck again, blood smears turning the kisses tacky. </p><p>John’s mostly gone numb below his waist. And above it. Occasionally Jim’s bites and scratches will break through the fog, pulling another moan from John. His limbs are too heavy to bother fighting anymore, his body switching from attempting escape to attempting to simply endure Jim.  </p><p>It catches him by surprise when Jim comes, the sudden shift above him as Jim loses all rhythm and frantically jack hammers into him.</p><p>Or he tries. Only a few thrusts in John feels Jim catch on his hole during the outstroke. The violent pull finally breaks through the wall of numbness, dragging a scream from John as his body refuses to let Jim go. Jim seems to give up on proper thrusting and instead grinds as deep into John as he can get. </p><p>The first wave of come inside him hits, filling and stretching him even more. John’s so distracted by the sensation, almost like when he cleaned himself out early in the night, that it takes several long seconds to realize it’s not just come that’s stretching him from the inside. Jim’s dick is <em>still </em>growing, expanding and lengthening to unreal proportions.</p><p>Above him Jim growls, deep and guttural. An unmistakable inhuman sound. His nails now feel like knives as they slice down John’s back. The changes are almost too subtle for John to make sense of what he’s seeing, like a timelapse of a flower blooming or something; the way Jim’s jaw is lengthened, his nose widening as fur begins to push through Jim’s tattooed flesh.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, so that’s what they look like -</em>
</p><p>Something gives, deep inside John, with a deafening <em>pop</em>. Then pain, blinding and inescapable, as Jim starts fucking deeper into him than before. </p><p>It’s almost a blessing when everything goes black.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 02</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>"The last thing any of them need is someone opening Jim’s fridge and discovering a half eaten kidney. Again." </i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>read. the. tags! At the top and in the end notes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Corey never sleeps well in the days leading up to a full moon. Being so close to when he’s forced into shifting activates some paranoid part of his brain, has him jerking awake at every slight sound or scent. Jim, (along with every other werewolf Corey has ever met) on the other hand, is dead to the world for a good ten to fourteen hours each night after the moon sets. It’s why Corey doesn’t even bother with a courtesy knock, instead letting himself in with the spare key Jim had given him for situations like this. </p><p>The overwhelming scents slam into him before he’s even through the threshold; sex, sweat, blood and shit all competing for his attention. God, Corey hates always being right. He makes a b-line for Jim’s bedroom. </p><p>Despite expecting it, the carnage still pulls him up short. </p><p>Jim’s face is a mask, blood dried in black clots around his mouth and nose, matting his beard in places. He’s curled up against John, holding John to him like a stuffed animal. </p><p>John died with his eyes open, but whatever horror had been on his face is gone now, his muscles slack in death. A good portion of the throat is gone, oesophagus hanging loose surrounded by strands of torn muscles, random chunks ripped from the chest and shoulders. Jizz in various states of tackiness decorates most of the wounds, with the gore turned pink where half-eaten organs spill from its torn open torso. The bloody stump that had been John’s cock drags against Jim as Jim twitches his morning wood into the body.  </p><p>This was going to be a bitch to clean up. </p><p>“JIM,” Corey yells, “get the fuck up!” </p><p>Jim snaps awake with a snarl, shoving the body away as he untangles himself from the wrecked sheets. John’s back is just as destroyed as the front, most of the damage centralized to his ass and upper back. Any damage John had managed to inflict onto Jim was erased with the shift. All that’s left is bloody handprints.</p><p>“‘Fuck you doing here man,” Jim grouses as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. </p><p>Corey growls. "You don't get to be fucking angry at me right now. What the fuck did you do?" He gestures angrily at the state of the room, the lump of soggy flesh that used to be a tail-chaser that's now lying slumped on the floor. "I warned you about this shit dude. You wanna get us shot?”</p><p>Scrubbing a crimson hand across his face, Jim glances around until his eyes land on John. "Fuck!” He cards another hand through his hair, taking in the room. Finally, he throws himself back onto the floor. “Not again, I was gonna try to, y’know, save the meat from this one.”</p><p>“Well too late now asshole, it’s gone bad.” Corey pokes at John with his boot toe. The smell isn’t quite spoiled yet but it’s close enough that it’s not worth salvaging. It’s for the best anyways, the last thing any of them need is someone opening Jim’s fridge and discovering a half eaten kidney. Again. </p><p>“I didn’t mean to sleep so late,” Jim gives up scratching at himself, finally realizing all the rubbing at his face is doing nothing but smearing the mess around. “Fuck, what time is it?”</p><p>“Late enough you’re lucky Clown or Craig haven’t come by yet.” Corey says ”You know how they get about wasted meat.”</p><p>“Well, at least fucking help me clean up.” Jim heaves himself off the floor with a groan. Corey tries to ignore Jim’s morning semi. He fails miserably. He’s never quite as horny as usual right after the change, but he’d have to be cold in his grave before he didn’t have a reaction to <em>that</em>. His own dick twitches in his jeans, but there’s no time for that.</p><p>Spinning on his heels, Corey heads to the supplies closet. </p><p>The cold blood-soaked sheets are easy enough to bundle up around John. Corey tries not to gag at the wet squelching they make when he grabs them. It takes a bit of coordinating but he and Jim get everything onto the tarp in short order. The mattress is clean and untouched under its rubber protective pad. Jim pulls that off and leaves it in the bathroom to be cleaned later. He won't need it again for a while now. </p><p>Jim leaves the heavy lifting to Corey, stepping over the tarp and past him on the way out of the room.  Corey darts in, licking a thick stripe along Jim’s gore covered cheek as he walks by. The half-hearted slaps at him barely do more than make Corey giggle. </p><p>“We gonna put him with the others?” Corey asks. It’s child work, lifting John in his plastic shroud and Corey is soon following Jim down the hallway to his locked basement door.</p><p>“Where the fuck else would we put him?” Jim doesn’t even bother looking at Corey, focusing instead on the combination lock securing the stairs to the basement. He is always bitchy after, Corey doesn’t take it personally. </p><p>Jim heads down first, turning the lights on as he goes. Carrying John to the basement requires some awkward maneuvering for Corey, the body gone stiff with rigor mortis, but it’s doable. Still, it would have been nice for Jim to offer a hand. It’s <em>his</em> fleshlump after all. By the time he navigates his way past the numerous mounds, tripping a bit on the unfinished dirt floor, Jim has already dragged over the half full bag of lye and begun to dig a new hole. </p><p>“Hey,” Corey says as he drops John and grabs the remaining shovel leaned against the wall from the last time. “We should go to waffle house after, I’m fucking starving.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 03</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <i>"So unlike John. He was a daily poster, never missed at least reading the updates on all his favourite threads. Now he hasn’t been online in days, and Tim knows deep in his heart why." </i>
</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>READ THE GODFORSAKEN TAGS</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Tim refreshes the page again, for what feels like the millionth time in the past ten minutes, but nothing changes; the screen still reads, </em>“westeriawolf, last online: three days ago.” <em>So unlike John. He was a daily poster, never missed at least reading the updates on all his favourite threads. Now he hasn’t been online in days, and Tim knows deep in his heart why. </em></p><p>
  <em>Still, even knowing why, Tim can’t help but fire off one last message. A plea for any kind of contact. It’s pointless but Tim always sends a last message before giving up on one of his fans.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He tabs over to a spreadsheet, painstakingly curated with colour-coded rows and columns of locations, common sightings, and, his least favourite, death tolls. With a deep sigh he updates the death toll cell where that particular bar crosses paths with the description of a potential lycan. The toll was already high. Marking it one higher makes Tim sigh. He tried to warn him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tim knows it isn't a "potential" lycan. His scars sting as he forces down the memory, clicks "save", and slowly closes his laptop.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>The phone buzzes again. Corey’s lost count of how many times now. Seems like it started buzzing as soon as they finished refilling the grave but it sure hasn’t stopped since. </p><p>He picks a passing gas station at random and is more careful than usual when he parks. No point in attracting attention on his way to ditch the evidence. Once in the dingy single-occupancy bathroom Corey looks at the phone properly. </p><p>John has his phone locked but the message previews are still accessible. Mostly. Plenty of messages begging John to let people know he is alright, but nothing so far indicating John actually told people where he was going. </p><p>
  <em>Good.</em>
</p><p>Humming to himself quietly Corey ejects the sim card and flushes it down the disgusting urinal. He can factory reboot the phone later. One of Clown’s pups has a birthday soon and Corey likes to score as many <em>“cool uncle”</em> points as he can. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EXTRA TAGS: rape/withdrawal of consent, blood and injury, graphic violence, character death, cannibalism,<br/>graphic description of gore, character death, graphic description of violence on a body, desecration of a corpse, body disposal, waffle house mention</p><p>wolfbad.tumblr.com<br/>dysphorie.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>EXTRA TAGS: rape/withdrawal of consent, blood and injury, graphic violence, character death, cannibalism,<br/>graphic description of gore, character death, graphic description of violence on a body, desecration of a corpse, body disposal, waffle house mention</p><p>wolfbad.tumblr.com<br/>dysphorie.tumblr.com<br/>dysphorie.dreamwidth.org</p></blockquote></div></div>
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